


In Darkness Comes Light

by MuscleMemory



Series: SH Writing Challenge [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Demons, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Violence, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:03:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7811848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuscleMemory/pseuds/MuscleMemory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Week Three of the SH Writing Challenge</p>
<p>Prompt: Lights</p>
<p>I have no idea why my mind turned 'Lights' into a Magnus demonic torture ficlet... needed him to be saved, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Darkness Comes Light

It had been inevitable.

To save everyone he crossed into their world, part of his own, and let the demon inside him take over.

He was devastatingly glorious. Black, yet fiery eyes, a splash of swirling gold amidst, spitting promises of desolation.

A perfectly black aura surrounded him, flitting faster than the eye could see, guising his human shape, swallowing up every illuminescence.

His arms could have been mistaken for lethal wings, as black and perilous as the rest of him.

Blue magic, several shades darker, interwoven with the blackest demonic power, let everything in its path crumble to dust.

His voice boomed in their minds, for it was only spoken in his, the most cataclysmic sound to ever persist.

He could not have been defeated. He was The Emperor of their world, destined to rule, to destroy, to be victorious.

Pride will have a fall.

They did not join him, they did not cower in his almighty shadow. They fought relentlessly and in superior number, and despite not nearly as powerful as him, they eventually vanquished him.

They held him captive in a darkness blacker than what the mind can grasp.

They ripped off his hands and scorched the stumps with hellfire, not giving him chance to bleed to death, or regrow them.

They ripped away his magic, leaving him with just enough to survive.

They blinded him with glaring fires, brighter and deadlier than sunlight. They let him recover his sight, so they could blind him again.

Time was lost to him. Weeks, months, lightyears. It didn't matter in their world.

His body, mind and soul were broken and they still scattered pieces of him.

Strung up by hell chains that scorched his flesh more with every move, he had retracted into the deepmost part of his mind.

There he managed to gather a slice of sanity, of memories, of dreams he used to have which were now lost to him.

Of friends he cared about. And in the most torturous moments, those he begged for peace, he saw those green-golden hazel eyes. They stuck with him, in his mostly manic, delirious, wrecked mind. His one slither of solace.

* * *

He is not aware of something gradually penetrating the perfect, hollow darkness encompassing him.

But it is growing, if slowly, sparks of light appearing in the blackness in front of him.

He doesn't know why his head suddenly starts moving, he didn't think he could still hold it up.

He doesn't know why his tormented eyes, their sight blurry at best, are fighting, struggling to pry open those heavy lids.

He doesn't know.

Yet.

He thinks they're back to blind him again, fright and dread tearing on his every bone, though why he is still frightened of anything, he doesn't understand. Agony is all that's left, all he's familiar with.

But this is different he realizes.

He's straining to see, to utilize every ounce of strength and will to _see_.

There are lights, tiny lights, expanding into more, one bright light, burning a hole into the blackness.

He needs to see, to move, to comprehend.

It cannot be but a figure of his imagination, an illusion caused by his torment. An apparition.

Yet.

He is spellbound, tears pooling in his eyes, overflowing, but he cannot look away.

Among the bright light, there's an appearance, a shape of something, someone. And he thinks he may have been wrong to assume the light is illuminating it, _it_ must be exuding the light.

He blinks the tears away, needing to see more, better... his mouth falls open in stunned silence, his mind unable to fathom what he is seeing.

The shape looks like a man, an otherworldly creature made of something akin to starlight.

He knows it doesn't exist, only in his shattered pieces of a mind. But he cannot look away, he cannot stop the feeling of utter astonishment filling every pore of him. He cannot stop crying or shaking or gasping as the creature comes closer, and for a split second, he is sure that it has wings. Mightier and more magnificent than any legend or tale or even his own eyes could describe.

It has almost reached him.

He sacks into himself as the last drop of strength seeps out of him.

* * *

A faint hum of movement.

He's engulfed in something, something soft, and warm.

He finally manages to open his eyes. He has no memory of where he is, he feels terribly disorientated, a soreness that reaches all the way into his core, but he doesn't feel afraid.

Eventually he becomes aware of something else around him. Something holding him. Arms. Arms are holding him while he's leant against a body. A solid, comforting sensation.

He moves his head slightly, trying to see...

“A...Alex...ander?”

He doesn't recognize his own voice, nothing but a raspy, feeble noise.

“Sshhh, Magnus, I've got you, you'll be okay.”

This sound, this voice so deep, full of emotion, worry, devotion, the deepest care and love, it salvages part of him, alleviates his remaining soul.

He closes his eyes and relaxes against him, his angel who came to save him. He needn't know how.

All he needs is the sound of Alec's heartbeat and the feeling of long, tender, fingers caressing his hair.

 


End file.
